


Things

by kitcassiachan



Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, First Crush, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Senpai Notice Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcassiachan/pseuds/kitcassiachan
Summary: Hinata has always had a thing for people dismissing him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711519
Comments: 52
Kudos: 611





	Things

**Author's Note:**

> got hit by a sudden love for this rare pair and it became this one shot. this is set in the second season after karasuno's loss against seijoh.
> 
> written to this [sweet song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAdJ3kTToRY)

**THINGS**

**HINATA HAS ALWAYS HAD A THING FOR PEOPLE DISMISSING HIM.** Maybe not a _thing_ thing, and certainly not a _sex_ thing, but sort of a pride thing, a _fuck-em_ thing. A thing made worse by cocky Kageyama and Hinata joining the volleyball team with a chip on his shoulder. 

He finds pleasure in being underestimated, all the times someone mocks his height, only to have that slack-jawed expression when they see him jump and spike every ounce of doubt to the ground. 

So it’s unsurprising that he’d get stuck on someone as vain and unyielding as Tooru Oikawa, who’s so good at what he does and so focused on his rivalry with Kagayama—because everything ever is about Kagayama—that Hinata doesn’t exist on his radar beyond an off-handed jab. 

Which of course, makes the cravings worse and those few times, when Oikawa's eyes go big because he’s looking and looking directly at Hinata, more rewarding than the whistle that follows. 

It’s during their first game when Hinata’s quick-attacks are repeatedly shut down or gobbled up that Hinata sees the smirk on Oikawa’s usually calm, unusually pretty face and first thinks he might even want him—a thought as troubling as it is fleeting, chased away by the adrenaline of points and plays. 

The next time Kageyama disguises himself to spy on Aoba Johsai, Hinata tags along, and knows immediately he has made a mistake because once he has seen where they play, his mind persuades him to return the next day, and the one after, and suddenly he’s there as much as he can, sprinting out when practice ends to catch Seijoh play their last few minutes. 

In class, he daydreams about hitting a ball set by Oikawa, what it'd feel like against his palm, if he’d have to squirm or adjust to get to it or if Oikawa would know how to give it to him, how he wants it. He wonders what _he_ ’d be like with Oikawa, after Oikawa, often, way too unbearably often, under Oikawa. The imagery has his heart ramming up his throat, threatening to vomit itself out. 

He gets there late on Friday. Seijoh is changing back into their school uniforms and saying their goodbyes but the net is up and Oikawa lingers behind when usually he and Iwaizumi are the first to ditch, leaving the first years to clean up. 

Oikawa serves bullets to an empty court and Hinata knows he should go because there’s no excuse for staying. They’re not practicing combos and if Hinata’s honest with himself, he couldn’t tell you when they did and what those were. 

Oikawa’s serves make Hinata’s look kiddish in comparison. Hinata watches him, his arms, his thighs—how he positions his body, tall and slender, every muscle flexing underneath his milky skin, as he springs himself in the air and snaps his limbs forward. 

The ball smashes against the court and bounces on the opposing wall, lazily rolling itself over to where Hinata’s crouching by the door. 

“I’m starting to think you like being a little creep,” Oikawa says. 

He knows and has known for who knows how long. Hinata should be running or hiding, trying to save face. Instead, he finds himself stepping into the doorframe, a sheepish smile on his flaming face.

“Pick it up,” Oikawa orders.

Hinata stares at the ball by his feet. He lifts it and throws it over. Oikawa catches it, only to toss it right back. 

“Let’s see it then,” he challenges, “Unless you can’t do it without him.”

Hinata clutches the ball in his fingers, hesitating. He’d be crossing a line if he did. He should leave while his dignity is somewhat intact. He should be practicing with his own team. He should not be this excited. 

Oikawa’s gaze lights a fire in his belly, makes him shiver and doubt himself, makes him feel fucking invincible, and at the same time, small and insignificant, and at the same time again, like he can take on the world, like he’s seen by those eyes and he has seen in them his future. 

Hinata lobs the ball high, flinging his arms back and readying for the attack. Oikawa sets it but he’s late or early or wrong, Hinata knows he won’t catch it. He misses it entirely. The ball drops on the floor, untouched. 

“Again," Hinata says.

Oikawa sets another missed opportunity. And another. Another. And another. Perhaps twenty in a row. Hinata loses count of the times his hand swipes through nothing. He can see the ball in slow motion but it’s always out of reach.

This isn’t how he had pictured this going and because he can barely contain angry tears, he sprints out, humiliated and without warning. 

“I don’t set people balls they can’t hit,” Oikawa says right before Hinata’s out of ear shot. 

Hinata’s legs protest the bicycle ride home and they’re not the only thing stinging. 

He lasts a little more than a week, repressing any memories of that evening—how he made a fool of himself and erased any respect he earned spiking Kageyama’s impeccable sets that anyone could hit. 

Oikawa’s words echo in his brain. His eyes, his burning eyes.

He returns with redemption in his mind.

Oikawa’s practicing but he’s not alone. Iwaizumi is in the gym with him, receiving his ace serves, and they laugh and fool around, Iwaizumi smashing every set Oikawa hands him. Hinata crumbles into himself in ways he never expected he could. 

He’s off in practice the following day. Sets slip through his fingers. Receives ricochet off his arms. Daichi has to yank Kageyama’s claws off his jersey and pull Hinata aside for a lecturing. Hinata doesn’t know how to tell them or what there is to tell so he fakes being sick and leaves practice early.

Oikawa’s waiting for him alone. They don’t speak, no exchange of pleasantries. Hinata throws him balls to set and misses swing after swing, cursing up a storm that would rival Kageyama's vocabulary when Hinata's being difficult.

Oikawa gives him nothing, no instructions on what to change, no insults or adjustments. Just the same ineffective set that Hinata can’t get to no matter how fast he runs, the set he’s too short or slow or stupid for. 

Hinata doesn’t know when he starts crying, just that the air suddenly feels cool against his cheeks. Oikawa doesn’t comment on that either.

“Give me something,” Hinata begs.

“Take it, if you want it,” Oikawa says simply. 

Hinata knows if he leaves now, he’ll keep coming back. He wipes his face on the bottom of his t-shirt and they keep going. 

When it finally happens, the rush almost knocks him out. 

The timing is exactly right. Hinata’s in the air where he needs to be, the ball offered to him so sweetly. His hand slashes through space to chase after the leather, every inch of him connecting. The spike shatters against the ground before Hinata lands. It feels unlike any other kill because this one is a hundred percent his. 

Hinata clings to the net, speechless. When he looks at Oikawa, the setter smiles at him, arms crossed. 

“I’m probably gonna regret teaching you that, huh?” He brushes the back of his hair. “Even Iwa-chan can’t hit that set.”

“You wanted me to fail?” Hinata gapes.

“Probably,” Oikawa laughs, “But I had a feeling you wouldn’t because you’re annoying like that.”

“Again!” Hinata insists, grinning. “Give me a worse one, torture me.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up to his bangs. Then he smirks Hinata’s favorite smirk, the one that challenges him.

“When you put it that way,” Oikawa shrugs, setting him a tougher set. Hinata hits that one too. 

They start practicing three times a week, after their team practices, well into the night. Hinata wants just once to be the last one standing but Oikawa squeezes every limit out of him, pushing until Hinata's legs collapse. 

Torture is the right word and Hinata lives for it, hungry for the moments where he forces his cramping muscles to obey, picks up his battered body and the look on Oikawa’s face goes from frustration to something akin to pride **.**

“You’re…” Oikawa stumbles over his words, “You’re something else. A little monster.” 

It’s the closest to a compliment he ever comes but Hinata swears he’ll pull one out of him, even if he has to break himself to do it.

He doesn’t know when it happens, just that it has. Oikawa goes from toying with the idea of putting him in his place to being the one to drag Hinata back on his feet when Hinata thinks he can’t go any longer. Wordlessly, without rhyme or ceremony, Oikawa starts training him. 

They go on morning runs, the sun soft and dreamy on Oikawa’s sleepy features. They drink protein-shakes Oikawa prepares for him. They talk and banter and have inside jokes. Hinata selfishly wants more, more time, more days, more of Oikawa—Seijoh be screwed. He thrives with the undivided attention, fills into himself and his confidence sky-rockets. His technique improves too in leaps that have his teammates bewildered.

Kageyama interrogates him in the club room. Hinata lies to him and himself, thinking if Kageyama would do things his way, Hinata wouldn’t have to cheat on him with another setter. But Kageyama wants to be the only star, gives Hinata no room to grow and even if he changed that now, it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

Oikawa teaches him to serve in ways that drive Hinata wild. He stands behind Hinata, one hand on Hinata’s waist, the other hand sliding down Hinata’s extended arm towards the ball. His leg pushes in the middle, shoving Hinata’s thighs apart to fix his stance. 

Hinata finds himself wishing he never gets one over the net, trembles every time Oikawa puppets his arms to mimic the overhead swing, almost like they're dancing. He feels the warmth emanating from Oikawa’s sweat-soaked jersey, Oikawa’s breath on the shell of his ear, whispering instructions. 

“This is your weakest point, shortie. If you get this right, you’ll be perfect,” Oikawa says once without realizing, scrutinizing the net and Hinata’s angle in regards to it, unaware that Hinata has fudged the last ten serves to stay in his arms.

Hinata wants to kiss him and the realization zaps through him, settling low in his belly like it's always been there. Oikawa glances down, their faces perfectly aligned. He raises an eyebrow, lips tugging into a cocky smile Hinata wants to lick away. 

“You okay there, red?”

Hinata barely sleeps the next few nights, painfully aware that he’s crushing hard on someone, who could have anyone, who sees him as nothing but a first-year runt.

He talks to Tanaka and Noya since they know a little something about unrequited love. He asks them not because he needs advice but because he wants to let it out somehow so the next time he’s alone with Oikawa, it doesn’t burst from his every breath. 

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Tanaka asks.

“It better not be Kiyoko!” Noya badgers. 

Hinata pushes out a garbled, “It’s a guy, but he’s completely out of my league so nothing will happen anyway.”

“Kageyama?!” Tanaka guesses. Hinata shakes his head, horrified at the idea. 

“A third-year then,” Noya says, “You have that far away smitten look all the first years get when they want senpai to notice them.”

“Do not,” Hinata grumbles. 

It’s unhelpful, telling them, a relief to be accepted but an annoyance to be constantly asked if he’s crushing on any of his teammates and which one it would be if he were to be, who’s the cutest in Karasuno, the hottest, the beefiest.

Kageyama catches on first, unexpected for someone only interested in volleyball and food. 

They’re in a practice match. It’s Hinata’s turn to serve; he missed the last three. Maybe that’s why he does it or maybe because Kageyama gets carried away with his insults and Hinata wants to shut him up. He steps back, rolls his shoulders and nails a jump serve. Nothing like Kageyama’s, nowhere near Oikawa’s power, but it connects and flies over the net. The team is stunned. Kageyama doesn't say anything. When it’s his turn to serve, his jump serve far outshines Hinata’s and Hinata knows it’s purposeful. 

“He’s reading you,” Kageyama says when they walk home. “You were our one outlier. You’re giving him everything he needs to beat us.”

“I don’t—” Hinata’s ready to deny because the consequences of what they’re doing are unclear and Hinata doesn’t want to risk being asked to never go back.

“Shut up,” Kageyama cuts him off, “I had my doubts for a while. No one gets that much better spiking balls against a wall. I thought it was Suga but he seems as confused as me. And today. I know that serve. It’s Oikawa’s serve. I know because he taught me first.”

The thought that Oikawa had his hands on Kageyama too, _first_ , rips out of Hinata something vicious and mean. 

“So what if it is?” He snaps.

“So you’re a moron. Oikawa doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. He knows this benefits him more than it benefits you. He’s learning how you move, conditioning your body to react to his sets instead of mine.”

“You’re wrong,” Hinata protests, “He’s… he’s… you’re wrong about him.”

“Oh?” Kageyama says, “I played with him for a full year. The only reason he hasn’t tried beating the shit out of you is because he doesn’t think you’re as good as him. He doesn’t take people outshining him in stride.”

Hinata skips the next three meetups. 

Then Karasuno leaves for training camp where it should be easy to forget. They’re around Kuroo and Bokuto, pleasant third-years eager to teach. Hinata should be rushing at every offer, bouncing off the walls when he catches their attention, when Bokuto takes it upon himself to show him a new move. 

Instead he feels guilty and unsettled. He finds himself missing Oikawa, _his_ third year, who knows how to talk to Hinata without babying him, who looks at Hinata like he’s special. Oikawa, who is his. 

“You’re back,” Oikawa says when Hinata returns, tail between his legs. 

He faces away from Hinata, back stiff, shoulders hunched. The serve he hits, though powerful, misses the court completely, rebounding off the far wall.

“Thought maybe I ran out of use now that you have better people to train with,” he says, hurt laced in his voice. Hinata hurts with him.

“How’d you know I’d show up?” Hinata asks.

“I didn’t,” Oikawa says, guiding another ball over the net with ease. “When you don’t show up, I practice serving. You’ll have yourself to thank when your libero can’t receive shit.” He turns to face Hinata, ball tucked against his waist. “Why _did_ you come, shrimp?” 

“I missed it,” Hinata confesses, “You.”

Oikawa huffs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever.”

He throws Hinata the ball and walks himself to the net. Hinata should accept the normalcy and continue their established routine. He should spike the worries down, sweat the yearning away, but something in him can’t. 

It’s Kageyama. It’s the nights at camp, Hinata curled into his futon wanting nothing more than to have a way to talk to Oikawa, to text him or hear his voice, to apologize, to ask for comfort and sweet, gentle murmurs. 

“Why do you train me?” Hinata asks, “What do you get out of it?”

Oikawa smiles sugary fake. “Tobio got to you? I was wondering how long it’d take him to figure it out. The serve must have sealed the deal.”

Hinata winces, “Oh.” 

Oikawa cocks his head in confusion because of course. It was so obvious to everyone except for stupid Hinata that this isn’t a thing. It’s a _Kageyama thing_. Oikawa’s getting back at Kageyama. Hinata’s a means to an end. Kageyama was right, of course he was, because Kageyama knows Oikawa better, because they have a thing, Hinata has nothing. 

He chucks the ball back with more force than necessary and rejoices in the surprised noise Oikawa makes.

“You’re right. I don’t need you anymore.”

Oikawa frowns. “Fine then.”

He bounces the ball on the ground like he could care less if Hinata stayed or died, if he ever came back, if they ever spent time together again. It’s all an elaborate taunt for him. 

“It’s better to learn from people who actually make nationals, you know?” Hinata pushes, “All you do is lose because you’re not good enough.”

It’s a low blow. Oikawa has shared with him how much nationals matter. How tall the wall standing before him, how deep the pain of being so good, so talented but never talented enough. Playing and losing, year after year, Ushiwaka rubbing Oikawa’s nose in his mistake, not going to Shiratorizawa, which Hinata knows Oikawa regrets. 

“When we _do_ make nationals,” Oikawa says, “Don’t come crying back to me, asking me to teach you how to get a freaking serve over the net, you fucking amateur.”

Hinata chuckles, “You don’t know shit, do you?”

“I know more about you than you know about yourself,” Oikawa says, which is ironic because Hinata wishes he did so he’d see how Hinata looks at him.

“If that were true then you’d know this stopped being about volleyball a long time ago.”

Oikawa looks lost. It shouldn’t hurt so much. Hinata had known this was the case. He swallows the knot in his throat, saves the tears for later.

“It’s fine if you don’t like me back, I knew my chances with you were non-existent and I was fine just being around you, but don’t use me.”

“Like you back?” Oikawa repeats kinda numbly. 

Hinata is so, so stupid and so, so useless and so, so shattered.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, “Don’t be cruel. I know you hate doing it.”

He cries a lot in the following weeks. It’s his first real heartbreak, one he brought on himself. He can’t hate Oikawa because Hinata was the one to go and get himself addicted. He leaned on Oikawa, fit himself to his side, gave himself hope that despite overwhelming evidence, Hinata might be good enough for this too. Oikawa, who sees him always, would see him like this too. 

Kageyama doesn’t push him and for that Hinata is grateful. They go back to quick-attacks, blind kills, whatever Kageyama wants. Hinata lets him lead and treats every spike as an emotional outlet, whacking the ball harder until it’s not about the point but the pain, the millisecond where he’s okay. 

When they play against Aoba Johsai in the semi-finals, it takes all of Hinata’s willpower to not hand him the game, as some form of messed up apology because that’s how love-sick he is. He’s willing to sacrifice his chance at playing more volleyball so Oikawa can win because he needs this win. Maybe this was Oikawa’s endgame all along and Kageyama was right.

Or maybe he was completely wrong because when they lose the second set, Oikawa stalks Hinata to the sidelines and shakes him by his jersey, looking pissed and flustered. 

“Don’t hold back,” he tells Hinata, “I don’t want it if it’s not you at your best, which I know isn’t this. Don’t waste all the time I put on you. Give me everything you got. Show off for me.”

Hinata does, and maybe his teammates know, or maybe they don’t and think he’s greedy for the ball like they all are, like any good player should be. Hinata wants the tingle on his palm, the roar following the kill. He wants it every single time but when they’re up against Seijoh, he wants it ten times more because of what comes with it, his eyes, so ruthless they see through Hinata's facades, undress him, mock him, test him, hold him.

Oikawa makes him want the ball more than the win. Hinata finds himself going for sets that aren’t his, asking for spikes that will be blocked because he wants it to be him and only him, chasing after Oikawa, cornering him against the set point, forcing him to realize that he’s never trying as hard as when they have each other. It’s Hinata unleashing this beast in him like he planted it inside Hinata. 

In that last play, when Hinata can see the victory so clearly and Oikawa steps into his view, reads him one final time, Hinata swears he fucking loves him. 

They win. It’s unbelievable. Watching Oikawa taunt Kageyama afterwards, excruciating.

Even now, after everything, it’s Kageyama. Doesn't matter how hard Hinata tries. It’s Kageyama Oikawa is claiming. Kageyama who doesn’t give a fuck about him, and that’s a lie because Kageyama does care, he’s equally obsessed with Oikawa, and Hinata’s the jealous idiot who threaded himself in their ties. 

Oikawa leaves the court without sparing Hinata a single word. Hinata looks at him until the tears spill over and his teammates ask concerned questions.

Noya rubs his back to comfort him. “You were amazing,” he says, "You did great."

Hinata can’t allow this to be the last time they speak. He breaks from the team and catches up to Aoba Johsai in the hallway. 

“Nothing? You’re gonna say nothing?”

Oikawa stops in his tracks, so does Iwaizumi and the rest of Seijoh, their faces tear-stricken, a chorus of sniffles. 

“We’ll get you next time,” Oikawa shrugs lamely.

But there will be no next time! Oikawa’s a third year. He’ll be graduating and moving who knows where. 

“Are you still gonna train me?” Hinata finds himself asking.

Iwaizumi flashes Oikawa a look that turns surprisingly fast into one of understanding. 

“Go ahead,” Oikawa dismisses them, “Get started on the bus.”

Iwaizumi nods. Without him by his side and the team to stay strong for, Oikawa crumples ever so slightly, the exhaustion clear on his face. 

“You don’t need me,” he laughs humorlessly, “You’ve outgrown me.”

It should be his second win. Hinata should be happy. 

“That’s not true,” he protests, “You had me. That last play, if no one touched it, you’d have had me and you know it. You’re the only one… I’ve never… you just...”

“I should be the one crying,” Oikawa says.

“Then cry!” Hinata yells, “Cry. Be mad. Be angry. Be sad. Don’t pretend this doesn’t hurt and you don’t care. I’m sorry it had to be me, taking it from you.”

Oikawa smiles at him, “Who else would it be?”

Hinata bawls. In between hiccuped breaths, begs, “Come back tomorrow.” 

“I’d rather not get more depressed."

“I’ll win for you,” Hinata says, “I’ll do it for you. You just fucking watch me. Everything you’ve taught me, everything you said about him, I will do this for you.”

“Why?” Oikawa asks instead of doubting him. 

He might as well be asking why to everything.

“I don’t know,” Hinata admits, “I don’t know how or why, but…” he shrugs. “You’re the _thing_ that makes me fight.”

Oikawa wipes at his eyes, the tears gone before Hinata could confirm them. “Good luck tomorrow,” he says, walking away. 

Hinata slumps into himself but Oikawa doesn’t move far, stopping to turn back around. 

“It won’t be the last time, you know?” He blurts.

Hinata’s head flies up. He sees Oikawa pout his lips and struggle, the words are sour on his tongue. A heavy blush covers his cheeks. 

“You have it,” he grumbles, averting his eyes. “So when we both go pro someday, I’ll look forward to seeing who comes out on top… Shouyou.”

Hinata almost misses that last mumbled word with how loud his heart is beating. 

He lurches forward without a plan, ending somewhere in Oikawa’s personal space, too close for comfort, too far to be enough. The third year watches him, the flush all the way to his jersey. Hinata knows he should kiss him—

but he hesitates—

and Oikawa leaves. 

The moment boomerangs in Hinata’s brain for the rest of the night, both harrowing and tearfully comforting. Oikawa doesn’t come to their final game. Hinata wins for him anyway. He clings to tomorrow, the future, the next lucky time. He will have it all some day. Just watch. 

It’s only when they’re on their way out of the venue that he hears that familiar voice and some day becomes today. 

He flips around to see Iwaizumi smile. Oikawa stands next to him, looking appropriately vexed and put off by Karasuno’s mere presence. 

“You came?” Hinata gasps. 

“I regret it,” Oikawa inflates his cheeks. “It was boring.”

Iwaizumi smacks him in the back. “He’s lying. He was yelling the whole time. I don’t think I’ve seen him get riled up like that for anyone.”

Oikawa huffs. “Was not.”

“Mhmm,” Iwaizumi hums. He slides his eyes to meet Hinata’s. “He’s proud of you, squirt, just too much of a shithead to actually say it.”

Hinata’s ears burn. He glances at Oikawa, who looks away, the same shade of red. 

“Whatever,” Oikawa mumbles, “You got lucky.” He flinches when Iwaizumi elbows his side. “What? They did. It was four-eyes doing most of the work anyway.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Iwaizumi sighs.

Hinata feels Daichi’s hand on his back. “We’ll be on the bus when you’re ready,” he announces, a smile on his voice. Hinata nods, can’t bear to look back at them. When he’s alone with the two Seijoh boys, Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa.

“So, Shittykawa, you gonna do it this time or you want me to stick around and do it for you?” Oikawa glares him away. “Fine, I’m leaving but if I have to hear one more time that you backed out—” 

“Iwa!”

“You came,” Hinata repeats like he can’t quite believe it. “We won and you were there. You saw us win, you saw… me,” he squeaks. 

Oikawa shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. For someone who’s grown up with fans and followers, he looks uncomfortable in this spotlight. Nervous, Hinata realizes, the great king is nervous for him. 

“You’re impressive,” Oikawa blurts before hiding behind a high-pitched chuckle. “I was happy to see the look on Ushiwaka’s face when you unleashed on him. Feels great to not be the only one caught off guard.”

He’s rambling, waiting, giving Hinata a set he knows he can hit if he tries hard enough.

“I won’t train you,” Oikawa says, “But if you wanna try doing other stuff… I can show you some stuff, I guess. We can hang out.”

He looks down at Hinata with eyes that glisten and pulls his hands out of his pockets, dropping them by his sides, an opening.

Hinata takes a tentative step forward, then a second quicker one, a third, closing the distance between them much like a spiker approaches the net. He tugs Oikawa down by his fancy blazer and kisses him, smashing their mouths together and waiting for the whistle. 

Oikawa’s hands find his cheeks. He smiles into Hinata’s lips. 

#

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna start writing rare-pairs because they're so fun and I'm obsessed with the foursome that is oikawa/iwa/kags/hina in any and all combinations.
> 
> please spare a kudos and a comment if I managed to make you smile :)
> 
> find me shitposting on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KitCassia).


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